


ghosts in the hood

by badAquatic



Series: Short Original Fiction [1]
Category: Elvish Americana, Original Work
Genre: African American Characters, Drama, Explicit Language, Family Drama, Homophobia, Illustrated, Latino Characters, Other, Short One Shot, Urban, urban drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A past tragedy that drove a young man from his home returns to haunt him. </p><p>Reviews and constructive criticism will be appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghosts in the hood

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally posted on my professional website vmartinwrites.tumblr.com but I'm posted in to AO3 in case people want to download it to their computers or phones. Its a strange story that really doesn't have a venue to be officially published in so I'm just tired of sitting on it so I'm posting it online to get some feedback here. I figure, why the hell not?

 

“Hey, shawty!”

Devon looked away from his sculpture and at his visitor. It was a man of equal age with a knit cat and sagging pants in his workshop cubicle. The security guard was peering inside and Devon discreetly waved him off, letting him know this man was a friend. The guard left but he was bound to return.

“Michael.” Devon said. When the man didn’t respond he sighed, “Chainsaw.”

The man grinned. “Looks like you haven’t forgotten everything.”

“What do you want?”

“Hey, c’mon, cuz. You gonna be ice cold to a brother? After all those times I helped you out?”

Chainsaw had helped. Devon would be an ugly smear on the pavement if he hadn’t. Devon acknowledged this and left his cubicle, heading outside the Arts building and motioning for Chainsaw to follow. People wouldn’t be eavesdropping out there.

Outside, Chainsaw was livid. “Shit, man! You shot up like a fucking weed after high school. We all thought you were gonna be a midget forever. Bugs and Butcher would piss their pants if they saw you now.”

Living on ramen and a prayer while lugging pounds of clay and art projects had helped Devon lost weight. He’d let his hair grow up and now they were foot long dreadlocks that had to be tied back. “How’re Bugs and Butcher?” he asked.

According to Chainsaw, Bugs was in jail for beating up on his girl in front of her kid and Butcher was on probation for drug possession or dealing. He couldn’t remember which. Devon wasn’t surprised.

“You know what day it is, right?” Chainsaw asked. Devon slowly nodded. “Are you going?” Devon shrugged. “Shit, man. Don’t be clamming up a nigga now. Usually you’re the first to lug your now-boney ass back to the Irons. But now you coming later and later each year. I ain’t even got a good look at you since high school.”

“I know.” He didn’t do it on purpose.

“Shit.” Chainsaw waved his hand, gesturing to the rocks and trees surrounding the Arts building. “This place that important to you? Can’t leave the fucking Tofu Curtain to see your Ma?”

“Mom shouldn’t still be living there.”

“Listen nigga, I dunno what kinda shit you still going through but this day’s important,” Chainsaw insisted, “and it ain’t the same without you. Your Ma ain’t even seen you last year. You drifted in like a fucking ghost, she said. I asked her where you were. Shit, I rode all the way up here to hippie-land with Boots just to find you.”

Oh great. Boots was here. That soured Devon’s mood. “Its been a busy week. Mid-terms are coming up.” The look on Chainsaw’s face told Devon he wasn’t budging on the issue. “Let me go get my stuff.”

Devon texted his roommates that how he’ll be coming in late and then texted Atty about a family situation and they would have to postpone. He packed up his latest project and followed Chainsaw to the parking lot. Boots was outside her car, yelling into her cell at some “busted ass nigga” Devon assumed was her boyfriend. She hadn’t changed at all. In fact, Boots had evolved; from a little wannabe ratchet to a big real-ratchet. Ultra-Ratchet. Mega-Ratchet. Like she was a ghetto Pokemon. (Would Atty consider her Fighting type or have to invent a new classification?God forbid these two ever meet, thought Devon.)

Boots was happy to see Devon, in her own way. “Motherfucker, you look like you about to ask us where you can get some goat, patties, and weed.”

“Not really…” Devon muttered.

“Shit, you haven’t changed. Six something and still a shrinking violet. Let’s go already. The meter’s almost up.”

The car’s uncomfortable. Its tiny and smells like old milk. In the back seat Devon’s wedged up against a car seat and his foot is squishing Elmo’s torso. Boots bitches the entire time about everything giving her aches and pains: missing child support, the crazed crowds at her job, craving a hot meal while on EBT, and her twin sons being hard to manage. Boots lamented her situation with the finesse of a modern day Hamlet suffering under the pressures of single motherhood instead of contemplating regicide. “Every morning at eight its beep-beep-beep! Gotta get them dressed. Gotta put them on a bus. Gotta be there when they get out. Pain in my fucking ass! If it wasn’t for Mama D helping, my hair would be grey!”

“Like your ass wouldn’t dye it.” Chainsaw muttered, “Ow!” He yelped because when Boots punched, it was like a brick slamming into you.

“If you hate dealing with them, why’d you have them?” Devon asked.

Boots looked disgusted. “What kinda person do you think I am?”

Chainsaw shot Devon a look to not go down this road with her. Devon looked out the window and said nothing for the rest of the trip. Everyone thought babies were precious and wonderful until they got bigger.

The Irons had changed incrementally. There were more empty houses and the local supermarket was under a new name. Most of the projects had been renovated or removed. There was a herd of cars in front of Mama D’s house, spilling out into the street with hazardous parking on both sides. Boots parked halfway down the street and they walked to Mama D’s.

Inside the house, Devon was greeted by the five who still recognized him. In the large room, Devon observed. Hatchet was heavier. Sandman was skinny now. Cowboy was in jail leaving Easy L with two kids and no support. The Duke lived above Mama D now with Glad Rags always stopping by. Duck was selling the leftovers from her EBT-earned pantry for quick cash and Red Hot was buying. Rainmaker was at the buffet and Roulette and Mama R wanted Devon to eat eat eat you look so thin boy even though they didn’t recognize him. Devon wasn’t hungry and he was pescetarian, sworn off pork chops and ham hocks for months. He pushed through the sea of people and approached the small bedroom in the back. Inside the room, Mama D sat hunched over in an old arm next to the night stand.  

She looked up at Devon with dry, red eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t come this time.”

Devon sat on the bed. “Chainsaw and Boots came for me.”

“I just wanted to see you face to face this time.” She frowned. “But they shouldn’t have. I know you’ve got plenty on your plate.”

Devon looked at the nightstand, crowded with fading photos of smiling faces, of lazy summers, and joyous winter nights long past. Laughter and tears until the final saline drops and blood were spilled.

“It hurts to come back.” Devon admitted.

Mama D nodded.

“Dad still in jail?” Devon asked.

Her face turned hard and she picked up a photo. Within it were two girls accompanied by a short fat boy with cornrows and a knee-long Scarface shirt. The girl was no exception in her fitted snapback, sport coat, and jeans. The other girl had a denim jacket, a long blonde weave, and low-rise pants. The three looked like the tightest bunch of little thugs-to-be.

“Until the end of time I hope.” replied Mama D, “I hope they bury him deep for what he did.”

Devon didn’t answer. Mama D slowly eased out of her chair. Moving wasn’t easy for her with a bad foot and diabetes but she risked life and limb for her children. Now Devon was the only child left. She held him and hot tears burst from his eyes. They were brief and afterward he left the room. Outside the sun was setting over the Irons. Boots and Devon sat on the old couch that had been on the porch as long as Devon could remember. She watched her two boys roughhousing on the dirt lawn with the other children. Devon had only met Boots’ sons in passing, knew they were Sneaks and Lucky, but didn’t know which one was which or their exact ages.

“So what’s life like in the land of tofu and hippies? Your balls shrivel like raisins yet?” Boots asked.

“Not the last time I checked.”

They lapsed into a five minute silence until Boots said, “When I heard about what happened to Ladykiller and Sweet Cakes, I think I cried for a whole month.” Devon shrunk from her, from hearing the forbidden names, and Boots scowled. “Stop being a little bitch! We never talk about what happened. We all gather here and shoot the shit, but no one talks about what fuckinghappened. Well I’m sick of it. You think you’re the only one who’s suffering, Devon? I never got to say goodbye either. I never got to say goodbye to them or to you.”

No one said goodbye to Devon. When Mama D got the call—when Devon saw Ladykiller and Sweet Cakes’s faces on the news—the boy known as Baby Face cracked apart. After the murderer was confirmed, Devon went to the bathroom and locked the door. He undid his cornrows and shaved off all his hair. He stripped his bedroom walls and closet of every Scarface and Menace II Society memorabilia he owned. Then he got a big metal garbage can, dumped it all, and lit a match.

It burned faster than he thought it would.

Then Devon didn’t talk to anyone. He hid in the library and in his textbooks. Applied himself to online learning, received a scholarship, and then disappeared behind the Tofu Curtain into a sea of hipsters and academics. A traumatized black dot among the complacent vanilla.

“I couldn’t stay.” Devon said, the lump in his throat growing. “Just knowing Ladykiller and Sweet Cakes were dead…” He struggled to find the right words. “I felt the Red King who just woke up.”

Boots stared at him. “Nigga, the fuck talking about?”

“In Through the Looking-Glass, there’s this guy called the Red King and he’s always asleep. Maybe he’s been asleep since the beginning of time. And everyone in Wonderland is afraid to wake him up, cause they think they’re part of the Red King’s dream, and if he wakes up they would all disappear.”

Boots only looked angrier. “The fuck you talking about?”

“After what happened to Ladykiller and Sweet Cakes…I felt like I woke up from a dream. And I thought…what was the point of acting like I’d cap any nigga who messed with me if I couldn’t keep my father from murdering my sister and her girlfriend? What was the fucking point?”

His voice had risen to a shout, getting the attention of the playing children. Boots touched Devon’s shoulder and he sharply breathed in and out. He sounded so haggard.

“I miss her too, Devon.” Boots said, “I never cared Ladykiller was les. She was a tough motherfucker and got me outta shit with those hos Viper and Slug. And Sweet Cakes never had a bad word to say about anybody.”

“Like it matters.” Devon said, “They were murdered all the same. Just happy Mom divorced that psycho years ago. Too bad he didn’t stay the fuck away.”

“We all knew Trigger was a bastard,” Boots sighed, “He just seemed better after he got religion in him.”

“Funny name. Trigger.” The coroner had said Ladykiller and Sweet Cakes had been shot to death.

“Don’t be like that. We don’t pick our names.”

Devon stood and walked to the curb where the cars were lined up. He’d had enough of this place. “No,” he concluded, “we never do.”

Boots had to watch her boys so Chainsaw drove Devon back to the Curtain. They drove to his squat apartment building on a main road, right across from a coffee shop and a book store. The lights were on so the roommates were home. On the curb, the two men exchanged goodbyes.

“It was good seeing you again,” Chainsaw said, “and don’t be a fucking stranger. Boots misses you more than she likes to admit.”

“I noticed.” Devon said.

Chainsaw shrugged. “Take care of yourself, man.”

“Hey…how come you don’t call me ‘Baby Face’ anymore?”

“Cause you ain’t there.” Chainsaw said in a matter of fact voice.

Devon wasn’t sure what to say. The two men stood on the curb, looking at each other. The door of the apartment opened and a familiar person ran out. “Devon!”

Devon turned around and blanched. “Atty? Oh my God, what are you—”

“I missed you!” said Atty, upbeat as always.

Atty embraced Devon and if he’d been stupid (and far less in love), he would have pushed them away.

Chainsaw smirked. “Oh. Looks like Ladykiller wasn’t the only one with a taste for the ladies.”

Devon didn’t have the time to explain misgendering and gender neutrality to Chainsaw. The man was already gone, driven down the street and back to the Irons. Atty looked confused and Devon decided an explanation was for another day. Right now, he just wanted to collapse into a boneless pile on his futon. He entered the apartment in the company of his other half, shutting the door on the ghosts clinging to his heels.  


End file.
